


just want to light you up, or how jessica stanley nailed charlie swan

by halfpenny



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: Charlie Swan Needs To Get Laid, F/M, Jessica Stanley Programming Genius, where's the tag for my own deep sense of shame and self-loathing?, works without redeeming value
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 07:13:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfpenny/pseuds/halfpenny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Jessica had a dollar for every time she'd come thinking about Chief Swan, she could have turned down her Stanford scholarship and built a floating yacht made out of money instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just want to light you up, or how jessica stanley nailed charlie swan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [audreyii_fic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreyii_fic/gifts).



> This is audreyii_fic's fault. Entirely.

 

When Jessica gets the wedding announcement in the mail, she reacts in two very different ways. The first is a full-on fucking eye roll because Jesus, Bella, marrying your creepy high school boyfriend is just the cherry on top of the fucked-up melodrama that was Forks, Washington. "It doesn't matter how hot he is," she tells her roommate, flinging the rest of the junk mail onto her desk. "Can you imagine getting married at 18? Like, I know people in the past did it or whatever, but now? It's just so trailer-trash, I wanna die." Her roommate ignores her and cranks the Bach blaring out of her iPod. Jessica snorts and flops down on her bed. If she'd known that Stanford was going to be full of humourless geeks, she'd have gone to U Dub like a normal human being. Jessica doesn’t care how prestigious the computer science department is, mandatory on-campus pre-coursework classes should be immediately criminalized and rigorously enforced.

She's not sure why people say that college is hard. She’s only two weeks in, but she can already tell her programming classes are a total joke. Thank God for the scholarship because she sure as hell wouldn't pay that kind of tuition to be bored all day. But if her professors don't know you can learn this kind of coding on the Internet for free, she certainly isn't going to be the one to tell them.

The second reaction is not something she's going to share with her psych major roommate, that's for sure. It's not something she addresses until she pounds out another 50 lines of Python for her next assignment. She doesn't care what the textbook says, Perl can go fuck itself. She treks down to the shared bathroom to brush her teeth and pads back in her pyjamas bottoms. She picks up the card again and glances over the names, knowing it'll be there. Charles R. Swan, Chief of Police is pleased to announce... She sighs, toying with the return envelope. Chief Swan, all scrubbed up for his whack-job daughter's most-likely shotgun wedding. Jessica smiles to herself, and flicks off the light. It's not like she can't miss a couple lectures.

She closes her eyes and concentrates on falling asleep. She briefly considers lying to herself about actually being invested in seeing Bella shackle her life away, but Jessica doesn't do self-deceit. She's going for the chance to gawk at Charlie Swan.

If Jessica had a dollar for every time she'd come thinking about Chief Swan, she could have turned down her scholarship and built a floating yacht made out of money instead. It used to worry her, back in high school, how much she thought about sex, about him. For a while, she blamed it on being 16 and out-of-her mind horny all the time. It was easy to explain. She was so keyed-up on hormones, everything and everyone looked good to her most of the time. Even stuck-up Edward Cullen, but that doesn't really count. He was so stupid-hot, Jessica's pretty sure Mike used to think about him while they were having sex. Not that she was any better, eyes squeezed shut in the backseat of her mom's car, thinking about Chief Swan tapping on the window. Thinking about him hauling Mike off her, all frowning and serious in his uniform, and putting his hand between her legs.

She's not stupid, okay? She gets the whole "powerful authority figure" appeal is totally clichéd, and that she's a strong, empowered young woman who doesn't need a man to complete her. She's seen that particular road and spoiler alert, it ends with a phone call from Bella asking Jessica to give a wedding toast. Jessica says yes, of course, because what the hell else are you supposed to say? She's not even sure Bella knows they aren't actually friends, haven't been friends for years, but Bella's always been a space cadet, so whatever. She's thinking of something about love and faithfulness and how not being able to legally drink at your own wedding is a phenomenal idea. She's never been so grateful to her mom for not letting her start kindergarten until she was almost 7. Turning 20 freshman year of undergrad is going to be the single best thing on the planet.

Plus, growing up in a town where the Cullens' move was the center of attention for weeks has not done much to broaden her horizons. Stanford's not short on good-looking guys, but the constant California "hey dude"-ness gets on Jessica's nerves. She's more into the strong, silent type. You know, the kind who leave her the fuck alone when she's trying to study or nap or catch up on her Twitter feed. She hooked up with a Cal-Tech grad student during Orientation Week and afterwards, he wanted to talk about feelings and destiny and no joke, asked about her aura. If she wanted to date a hippie, she would go down to the beach and pick one at random. She’s looking for someone a little older, you know. More mature. Facial hair certainly would not be a deal-breaker.

*

So anyways, the week of the wedding rolls around, and Jessica heads up a couple days early. She has no intention of doing homework while back in Forks, but she figures she can coast on catching two line errors in her TA’s thesis for a couple weeks at least. She hugs her mom and chats with Angela and waves to Mike at the diner without stopping to speak to him, and generally shows willing. She doesn’t miss Forks, not by a long shot, but it’s family in its own way, the cool damp settling into her clothes, curling her hair. Lauren’s long gone, took off for Portland, and Amanda from the rez has been incommunicado for weeks. So Jessica grabs her keys and starts cruising around, radio up and windows down, letting the soft air chase itself around the inside of her car. She’s grooving to something great on the local college station, agreeing with the band that they do indeed want to get that gold on the ceiling, when sirens bark behind her and her mirror flashes blue and red.

Jessica twists around in time to see the new stop sign she blew past and sighs, signaling over. She’s already unsnapped the first button on her blouse, ready to bat her eyes at which deputy pulled look out duty, when the voice at the window drops the bottom out of her stomach. “Jessica?”

Charlie goddamn Swan is leaning over her car, frowning at her. Jessica stares up at him, her mouth working to produce sound without success. Charlie Swan with the badge and the shoulders and the stern expression like maybe she’s due for a little discipline, and fuck Jessica, this is not the time or place.

“Hi Chief Swan,” she says, turning on the charm as hard and fast as possible. “When did that stop sign go up? Because it was not here when I left last month.” She can feel sweat at her temples and God, she really needs to get laid if somebody’s dad can still do this to her. “Sorry I didn’t see it.” She shrugs and smiles, sweetness and light from here to next Tuesday. “Guess I feel safe enough to go on auto-pilot.”

“Yeah well, it’s a safety hazard, Jessica, not paying attention like that.” He squints down, all professional concern. “You’re too young to—“

Jessica laughs her aren’t-I-a-darling laugh, one she’s spent years honing on teachers and parents alike. “Chief Swan, you know that I’m not going to run into anyone here this time of day. I’m not too young to know that. La Push’s schools don’t let out for another hour and the timber trucks can’t take this road until the potholes are fixed.” He’s smiling at her, an indulgent expression. It sets her teeth on edge.

“Not too young, huh?” Charlie tilts his head, almost fondly. “Guess you’re all grown up now.” Like she’s just a kid. Like she’s his fucking daughter’s high school pal.

She’s not sure why she goes there. She blames the boredom or the latent daredevil in her. Hell, she could blame it on the Bossa Nova for all anyone cares, the point is that she wants to see Chief Swan’s face when she leans forward and says, “Yes, sir.” She smiles, all teeth and intent. “Now who’s not paying attention, Charlie Swan.” She holds his gaze, eyes sleepy, like she knows something he doesn’t. And damn if Charlie Swan doesn’t go pink from his neck straight up to his cheekbones.

He clears his throat and fumbles his ticket pad away. “Watch the road, missy,” he says and walks back to his cruiser. Jessica sits in her car until he’s gone, her hands trembling on the steering wheel.

*

 

 

It’s 1am and Jessica is one glass of spiked punch away from being drunk. Officially, there’s no alcohol allowed, what with the bride and groom both being hideously underage, but thank Christ one of the guys from the rez, Ethan or something, the one who can’t stop staring at her, brought booze. So Jessica is nice and buzzed now, thanks very much, after the absolute disaster of her toast. A smattering of polite laughter and scattered applause were her scant rewards for selflessly abandoning her vital classwork at Stanford to attend the most absurdly overwrought party in Forks’ history, she thinks, pulling off her shoes. She turns to say as much to Angela, only to find that Angela has vanished onto the dance floor, swaying to an orchestral version of “Hey Ya” with the tallest guy Jessica’s ever seen.

Jessica shrugs, an elegant gesture she’s sure, even if no one is around to appreciate it, and leans back in her seat, supremely unconcerned with not dancing. She’s about to go in search of that last glass of punch when again, that voice hits her. “Hi there, Jessica.”

Charlie Swan can rock a tux. Because of course he can. Because Jessica’s life isn’t complicated enough without that particular mental image to torture her at night. He smiles down at her and under the initial rush of pleasure, Jessica takes his measure. He’s not precisely swaying, but he’s loose. Happy. And still smiling at her. “Hi,” she says back, waiting for more. When he looks around, she says, “I don’t know where Bella is. I think she and Edward ducked outside.” Charlie nods, still scanning the crowd. Yeah, she thinks. Well past time for that punch. She stands up.

Charlie clears his throat and holds out a hand. “Care to dance?” he says and Jessica blinks and waits for the words to resolve themselves into something less outrageous. He shifts a little and his cheeks, oh mother of God, his cheeks pink up a bit. “Saw you sittin’ out over here.” He smiles at her again, that slightly sloppy expression. “Can’t have a pretty girl like you all on your lonesome.”

Jessica takes his hand because her only other option is fainting like an 80s Lifetime heroine in her mom’s movies of the week. He leads her out and puts a wide warm hand on her back, holding the other in the air. Jessica’s never actually danced like this before, so she lets him push and pull her from place to place. She can’t tell if he’s good at it or not, but she’s got enough on her plate focusing on not burrowing into his chest and breathing deep. He smells like pine sap and beer and faintly of cigarette smoke. “Did you sneak out to smoke, Chief Swan?” Jessica says, knowing full well it was Bella’s mother flashing around a pack of shitty American Spirits earlier. Underhanded perhaps, but at least it’s a conversation starter that doesn’t include the phrase “take off your pants.”

Charlie frowns at her, his hands flexing a little, and Jessica suddenly realizes that she’s massively turned on. It’s the alcohol and whole wedding thing and all the ridiculously good-looking party guests converging into a perfect storm, but she’s absolutely slammed with desire. And dancing with the object of her high school fantasies. She needs to get out of there, pronto. Just this dance and then she’s going to bounce. Just this one dance with his hand in hers, and after that, Jessica promises herself, she’s out.

“Bella’s mother smokes,” Charlie says and it takes Jessica a minute to figure out he’s answering her question. “Or she was earlier, anyways. She hugged me and, well.” Charlie looks lost for a moment, genuinely adrift, and Jessica want to hug him close, to tell him he’s worth twenty of his ex-wives, whether or not that’s true. She wants, very softly, to kiss him right under the jaw, brief and wet. “She’s here with her new husband.” Charlie looks confused, like he can’t believe he’s telling her this. “He plays baseball,” he says and sounds appalled at himself.

Jessica shrugs. “Eh, not much a baseball girl, myself. I prefer hockey.” She looks up at Charlie. “I could always slash his tires if he’s bothering you.”

Charlie looks down at her, at her prim little smile, and laughs, really laughs with his head thrown back and everything. Jessica grins up at him, her tongue caught between her teeth. “Is that so?” Charlie says, still chuckling. “I could arrest you for that kind of talk.”

Jessica plays along, tamping down the dizzying swoop of _oh-god-yes_ in her belly. “I don’t think so, Chief. You need someone to do your dirty work. You know, on the outside.” Jessica doesn’t think about Charlie Swan handcuffing her and interrogating her alone after hours. “Besides, I’d be doing you a favor, so you’d owe me.”

He’s shaking his head at her. “I’d owe you, huh. Well, anything I could do to repay your for minor acts of vandalism?” He’s joking and it’s a joke, and Jessica knows that. She knows that this is the point where she says something inane about traffic violations and they both laugh, and she says goodnight and never mentions this again. That is not, however, what Jessica does.

And oh, she’d love to blame the liquor, but the problem with not doing the whole self-deception thing is that all you get is the horrific truth all the time. So when Jessica says, “Not unless you’re willing to fuck me in the coat closet,” she hears every word. And so does Charlie Swan.

His mouth falls open, shocked, and Jessica laughs a little and bops him on the shoulder. “Relax, Swan. I’m not going to—“ She steps wrong, forward instead of back, and slams into him. Into his hips. Into his— “Jesus fuck,” says Jessica, and Charlie drops her hands and walks off the floor.

Holy shit. Holy _shit_. There’s no way that isn’t what she thinks it is. Charlie Swan, Chief of Police, is stiff in his pants for her, for _her_. Fuck. She’s so goddamn wired right now she could cry a little. Jessica makes a beeline for the bathrooms, brushing past Ethan from the rez, who reels out of her way like he’s about to fall over. Fucking punch, she thinks, and bangs open the door, reading to take care of herself and put this fiasco in her rearview as quick as humanly possible.  

Only it’s not the bathroom. It’s the coat closet, wire racks of jackets and wraps crowded in with spare chairs. Charlie Swan is shrugging on his coat, badge pinned to the front even here. She is now alone with Chief Swan. Whose pants are still…”I’m really sorry,” she says, hands fluttering out in front of her. “That was out of line, and in poor taste, and I apologize sincerely—“

Charlie Swan scrubs his face. “It’s my damn fault. I shouldn’t be—“ He gestures at her, somehow encompassing both her dress and her general youth. “I don’t know—I mean, I’d never—“

“I know! I know!” Jessica says “It’s just—I had such a crush and I—“ She attempts a laugh. It doesn’t work. “I guess it’s nice to know I have some effect.”

Charlie glares at her. “How is flirting with me going to impress some boy?”

“What?” Jessica shakes her head. “No, on you. I had a crush on you. But the point is—“

Charlie stares at her as if she’s just announced that she’s been running a crime ring in Port Angelus. “You.” He points at her. “On me.” He jerks a thumb at his chest. “That’s—“ He scrubs a hand through his hair. “Huh,” he says and sits down heavily on a folding chair.

Jessica watches him drop his face into his hands and resolves to fling herself off a cliff.  “Yeah well, sorry to disgust you,” she says and brushes past to grab her flimsy gauze shawl from a hanger. She’s going to put on her wrap and think of something incredibly cutting to say and march out the door without a backward glance. It’s a solid plan and Jessica feels confident that it will keep her from tearing up in front of Charlie fucking Swan. However, it kind of goes to hell when Charlie reaches out to touch her leg.

When she looks down at him, he hasn’t raised his head, just spared one hand to rest flush on her thigh, just above the knee. Jessica sucks in her breath and the hand on her leg tightens a little, rubbing lightly. “Umm,” she says and takes a step towards the chair. His hand moves with her, sliding around behind her, gripping a little. His thumb kneads at her, restless, and Jessica has to fight to keep her eyes open.

Charlie sighs. “You should go on home,” he says, but there’s no will behind it. Jessica takes another step over. One of his knees is between the both of hers now. His hand has not moved.

“Should I,” says Jessica and it’s not a question. Charlie sighs again, deeper this time, and slowly, so slowly, the hand on her thigh begins to climb.

Despite her own internal assurances that this cannot be happening, it is. She holds her breath, waiting for this to shatter somehow, for someone to barge in or for Charlie to remember that this is his daughter’s wedding reception. But the party is in full swing outside, people talking and laughing, and Charlie can’t seem to look at anything but her right now, and that’s more than Jessica ever expected. She lasts until he reaches her hip. He squeezes there, feeling her through her dress, and she ducks down and kisses him.

He pulls her down into his lap, arms around her, hands pulling at her shoulders, her hair. He kisses like he talks, deliberate and a little rough, the first hints of stubble already scratchy-sharp against her lips.  She can’t concentrate, flitting from his mouth to his neck to his shoulders and back again, too blown away to focus on finesse. Charlie nips at her mouth, stilling her, and before she can nip back, he’s working on her throat and oh, God, Mike never managed to find that spot and this can’t be real and— _shit_ —

“I don’t—“ Jessica’s eyes go wide. “Shit, I—I don’t have a condom.”

Charlie looks puzzled and then shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he says and slides that fucking hand up and up and oh, God. “Shhh,” he says when Jessica yelps and twists. “Easy now.”

If this is easy, Jessica thinks, then what does hard—Charlie’s fingers slip up and around—“Charlie, aah!”

His voice is just this side of too hard. “Girl, you gotta—shit, you gotta be quiet now. People could hear you.”

She’s trying to keep it down, she really is, but it’s Chief Swan, under her, thighs spread wide with his hand up her dress. He’s lucky she’s not openly wailing. A bunch of voices outside rise and fall, and her rhythm stutters as reality hits her, the music from the party sounding closer than a minute ago. But Charlie grips her hip, pulls her into tighter and tighter circles against him, and Jessica is going to die right here in this coat closet.

“Charlie—“

“Shhh,” he breathes, fingers working patiently against her. “There you go, that’s right. Come on, girl. I gotcha.” And Jessica bites down hard on his cheap suit jacket, keening into fabric, riding it out.

When she comes back from it, he’s breathing harder, his face pressed against her hair. She realizes he’s touching himself and everything in her tightens all over again. “Here,” she says and bats his hand away. He groans when she grips him, and she feels like God. She butts her forehead up against his, feeling him wince at the pleasure, unused to someone else’s touch. “Here,” she says again and Charlie Swan makes a soft, broken sound, and she can’t help it, can’t stop herself, she leans in and bites his lower lip. His body heaves under her, and she squeezes her thighs to keep from falling off.

“Oh,” she says, listening to him breath through it, and puts a hand on his lower back, feels him jerk in the comedown. Her knees are cramping and she’s going to have to burn this dress, but Charlie Swan is huffing in huge lungfuls of air, his head on her shoulder.

Five minutes and a handful of tissues later, Jessica’s out the door, wrapped in Charlie’s suit jacket. They walk to her car in silence, her heels clicking together in her hand. He nods at her once, all gruff manners again, and helps her into the driver’s seat. He watches in the parking lot until he vanishes from her rearview mirror.

*

When Jessica opens her front door, her mom is half asleep on the couch, violins swelling on the TV. She startles awake long enough to smile at her daughter. “How was the wedding?” she says around a yawn.

Jessica fingers the label of the jacket and shrugs. “Nothing special,” she lies.

~*~

 


End file.
